


i never meant to make you bleed

by blurryfaced



Series: nameless, faceless [1]
Category: GOT7
Genre: Angst, M/M, alternative universe, but i'm pretty sure i'll elaborate on it in the future, i definitely have some ideas for more works in this as a series, i'm not really sure what possessed me to write this, idk - Freeform, lapslock, so keep an eye out for that maybe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 19:41:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8070178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blurryfaced/pseuds/blurryfaced
Summary: “don’t fall in love with someone like me,” ars mumbles. jaebum hates how he automatically leans forward, pushing one of his ears towards the man. he already knows what follows. “you’ll regret it.”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ShadowedMelody (ShadowedMaiden)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowedMaiden/gifts).



> i blame lily very much for shipping 2jae and loving the dynamics of their relationship so i'm dedicating/gifting (?) this to them. suffer with me, kid. this is all on you.
> 
> hope you enjoy!!
> 
> —mack

the rain is thick and heavy against the glass, hitting at such an angle that makes the arch of its bounce large. everything on the other side of the glass is blurry, a mixture of greys from the poor lighting of the setting sun around the tall buildings. it makes everything look smaller and unreal; it’s more as if he’s looking at a film or a premise of some new video game. there are lives he knows nothing about fluttering about outside before the glass.

their meeting place is in the middle of the city — something he doesn’t understand — and a very popular café. it had been almost full when he’d entered, but now many of the groups had left and even fewer had entered until there were no more new customers. as time drags on, the workers are getting more irritable and tired, looking anxiously every five minutes at the clock in the hopes of it magically being time to go home.

his knee is bouncing nervously, fingers drumming constantly along the table top. there’s a small plate to his right that now only holds crumbs, a mug several inches away being the home to less than an inch of coffee. he’s been here for over an hour already. when he’d first entered, he hadn’t had the plan of buying anything, but the insistence of the waitress and the suddenly long wait had finally won.

it’s late and he doesn’t know how much longer he can stay here, waiting, when the door opens.

the body that enters is completely soaked to the bone, outer-coat drenched through and water dripping from their fingertips. there’s a hat pulled low, the brim hiding what the mask doesn’t of their face. he watches warily as they approach his table, the outer-coat slipping from their shoulders and down their arms. the newcomer drapes the piece of clothing over the chair closest to the window and sits in front of him.

he watches as they pull the hood of their jumper up and over their hat, dark eyes peering up at him from under the brim. his heart skips a beat.

“you had me waiting here for almost _two hours_ , ars.”

ars tilts his head in a silent apology, looking up at the waitress that rounds in on their table. she shoves the menu in his hands while shooting jaebum a look and saunters off with a little more attitude than necessary. apparently, you couldn’t just sit in the café without buying something from the counter. he has a feeling he might be on a list now; customers that need to be forced to buy food.

ars eyes scan the menu quickly, jerkily. he’s hunched over in such a way that makes jaebum think he’s a coiled spring ready to pounce. the menu doesn’t make a sound when it falls onto the table.

“I’m sorry,” ars says. his voice is quiet anyway, not wanting it to carry through the café, except now it’s also muffled from the cloth covering his mouth, forcing jaebum to lean forward in order to hear him properly. “it’s hard not to have people recognise you.”

the rain fills the silence that would otherwise be there. the sky is darkening even more, the lights in the café too bright in contrast. jaebum thinks he would be excused if he was wearing sunglasses. there are only three other tables occupied, and one of them looks ready to go.

“how did you manage to get your face out there?”

“it wasn’t by choice.”

“it never is, is it?”

bitter. the feeling fills him, settling in the lining of his stomach and the back of his throat. it makes his voice clearer, huskier; gives it an edge that betrays his emotions. the line of his brow is tight and of his eyes sharp as he snaps his attention from the table where an elderly man is pulling on his coat as his companion looks around in her purse to ars.

even with the difficulty of seeing his face, jaebum can tell ars is surprised by his tiny outburst. it’s not normally like this, their exchange. it’s normally sweet, filled with jaebum touching ars as much as he possibly can and sitting alone with only his pet cat, nora, for company when ars runs before the sun shows its face.

the look in ars’ eyes makes his skin crawl and his heart swell uncomfortably. he hates the way he can be rendered speechless for different reasons because of one man, one look. violently, he jerks his head to the window and watches the blur of other lives diligently.

jaebum’s voice is controlled when he speaks next. there’s a pressure in his throat that won’t go away, no matter how many times he swallows. “why are you late?”

“traffic.” ars doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look at all apologetic. the answer is always the same, always a lie.

jaebum thinks he’s had enough.

“who was he?”

ars blinks. his head tilts the other way and he looks so much like an attentive bird it tugs at the affection already deep seated in jaebum’s core for the boy. “he?”

jaebum looks away from the window and, stupidly, locks gazes. “you had more ‘work’, right?”

ars blinks slowly. his eyes make jaebum think of a cat’s eyes; the shape is distinctly feline, with the curve at the edges. they’re dominated by his irises that melt easily into his pupils in the shadows. the sharp block of light on his face from the brim of his hat gives his eyes a deeper depth than usual, making jaebum feel as if he’s about to fall head-first into the deepest well known to man.

his ears feel hot. eyes shooting downwards, he stares at his own hands. rings stick out on his thumb, index and ring fingers, dotted over his hands like the decorations they are. silver against bronze skin, he’s been told they go well together along with the black of his earrings. he traces the engraved design with his eyes.

“don’t fall in love with someone like me,” ars mumbles. jaebum hates how he automatically leans forward, pushing one of his ears towards the man. he already knows what follows. “you’ll regret it.”

it’s the same warning every time, the same conversation every meeting. yet it never fails to make jaebum feel foolish. heat starts at his ears and travels along the apples of his cheeks. he gets the distinct feeling that he’s flushing down his neck, too, so he turns his head away, squints at the waitress that had just given change to one of the other tables.

ars is watching him, intense under his hat and behind his mask. it’s a weight he hates yet thrives under. the relief that filters through him when the waitress turns to them, fighting to keep the sour look off her face, is worrying. possibly.

“I’m sorry, gentlemen, but we’re closing so I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

jaebum nods and begins gathering his stuff. he stands and pushes his chair in, shrugging on his leather jacket over his hoodie. his gaze flickers to ars, who is only now getting to his feet, taking his time as he plucks his coat from the chair. the two of them give a small goodbye to the workers and leave into the onslaught of rain.

 

 

 

 

the door clicks behind them loud and clear. it’s such a familiar sound, going hand in hand with the flicker of the light switch and the sudden flood of light in the entryway. it’s still raining harshly, water hitting the glass of the windows loud and thudding against the walls of his flat. they haven’t had a storm like this for so long it feels nice to listen to it.

they shed themselves of their soaked clothes and dirty shoes, padding along wooden floor in thick, winter socks. jaebum feels far too aware of ars’ presence, of his body moving along behind him and following him into the kitchen. he doesn’t like it, doesn’t like that his attention is completely on his guest. the guest he hasn’t seen in over a week.

jaebum fills the kettle with water and places it to boil on its stand, eyes glaring at it and ignoring the way ars will be pulling his hood down, his hat off and gently unhooking his mask from his ears. he has absolutely no wish to watch the young man do _anything_ at that moment. he has no fondness, not right now, for that man. none. the tight grip he has on the cupboard’s handle says otherwise.

the boiling water is loud, steam rising and forcing condensation onto the cupboards above it. jaebum focuses on the sorting out the coffee, getting the milk and mugs ready. he has his back to his companion, to ars. it probably shouldn’t feel as strained as it does.

a hand reaches around him for a mug, picking it up from the counter and disappearing behind him. he grinds his teeth together, feeling the stress it causes run along his jaw, and breathes through his nose as he stirs milk into his coffee.

“I trusted you, you know,” jaebum says.

he turns and leans against the counter. ars is directly in front of him, in the same position, with both hands holding his mug steady. jaebum recognises the jumper he’s wearing as one of his own. suddenly, his throat is too dry and the coffee he’s holding isn’t enough to wet it. ars is gazing at jaebum as he swallows mouthful after mouthful, almost as if he’s contemplating.

“that’s your fault,” ars finally says, head tilting ever so slightly. “not mine.”

jaebum snaps his gaze away stubbornly. he feels like such a _child_ , such an _idiot_. the stories he’d heard during his childhood, promises of an easy life with a wife and kids and a job. a house, maybe. even some pets, if he felt so inclined. it was always an easy tale that never failed to make him _want_. but now look at him, at what he has. what _does_ he have?

it’s selfish, jaebum thinks. one of them has selfish motives, but he’s not sure which one of them it is. maybe it’s both of them, and it’s why they fit so well together. they feed off of that egotistical need, the challenge to try and win. because they’re playing a game. that’s all this could ever be, he realises. or maybe he doesn’t realise and he just kids himself. a game with no rules and no goal. would either of them even know if they won?

ars walks the few feet that separates them and frees a hand to press it against jaebum’s shoulder. his thumb’s rubbing circles against the soft fabric and jaebum really doesn’t want to look, doesn’t want to get sucked into his gaze again but he’s useless.

he’s a piece of shit against ars, and the damn man _knows_.

his lips are soft as always — curtesy of his constant use of lip balm — but they taste bitter. bitter and hot, _warm_. there’s a clink and suddenly his mug’s being taken from him, put aside on the very same countertop that ars’ own mug is now at home. hands cup his jaw.

this could be cute. this could be sweet and loving and _worth it_. this could be his own version of the fairytales he was told in his infancy. but is all of it worth it? is it horribly worth the effort he puts in, the ache he feels and that constant sense that he’s acting too young for his age? that he’s too far in over his head? that, maybe, he’s playing himself?

“ars,” jaebum murmurs between kisses.

those feline eyes are gazing up at him again. they’re so open, so transparent he just can’t _comprehend_. he doesn’t understand how this man has his job and can look like that. he turns his face away, keeping his hands on familiar hips as he tries to think, tries to wonder. what is going on with his life? when did it come to this?

“ars,” he whispers again. why can’t he raise his voice? “what are we doing?”

the young man’s lips part and his eyebrows raise millimetres. the hands cupping his jaw move to sit on his shoulders instead. his thumbs press gently against the hollow of his collarbones that peek out from his own hoodie. “kissing.”

jaebum looks at him and he doesn’t want to let his exhaustion show, doesn’t want it to bleed through the cracks, but it might be out there in the open, might be obvious, because something starts colouring ars’ features; something that isn’t indifference or the quiet pity that can so often be found there.

“no,” he says. “what are we _doing_?”

ars starts playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck and he has to fight not to give in. “I told you not to fall in love with a person like me.”

the words are soft but they make his heart twinge, his eyes close. they make his soul feel heavy and burdensome. “don’t.”

the fingers continue to play with his hair, slowly making their way up to the longer strands that allow them to bury themselves. the sudden massage to his scalp wasn’t expected but it sends calming waves down his spine and along his shoulders. it has the tension that sat in his soul slowly leak away until he’s pulling him closer, flush against him and burying his face where ars’ shoulder meets his neck.

ars’ scent is suddenly overwhelming and he’s drowning in it. it fills his lungs and makes them burn, makes them fill with something he’s never been able to name, something that always catches him off-guard. he could _never_ name this feeling, never be certain as to what it is enough to be able to give a definite description, let alone a name.

“im jaebum.”

jaebum doesn’t want to react to his name, doesn’t want to move away. so he presses kisses to the skin under his lips, hot breath washing over the flesh and forcing goosebumps to appear. the fingers in his hair tighten and guide him up, away from the familiar feeling of flesh beneath his mouth.

“im jaebum,” ars says again. there’s a pink hue to his cheeks, something rosy and _alive_. “make love to me.”

so he does.

it’s sweet and gentle and familiar. they don’t talk, other than names and the occasional _god_ falling from their lips into the room. ars is pliant in his hands, moves with only the gentlest push and rocks against him in a way that makes pleasure spike up both their spines. they’re nothing more than pants, moans and ghosting touches; lingering looks, deep kisses and grabbing hands. they have sex closer than they ever have before, pressing themselves as close together as they possibly can while still being able to move.

ars closes his eyes when he reaches his end. he tightens his hold on jaebum and hides his face when he reaches his end. he always does it, it’s his tick. but it leaves jaebum feeling sour, sad, almost. too much about this felt like it was a goodbye. but who’s he kidding? every time feels like a goodbye. every time he sees ars he wonders how long he can keep the boy alive for.

jaebum tries very hard to keep ars with him when they’re clean. he holds him close, tucks his face into his neck and pulls the covers up high over both of them. he whispers things they both already know, things that could only be classified as mistakes, feeding the childish hope that sits in his chest that maybe _this time_ , ars will stay.

when morning comes, jaebum spies nora curled up against his side, fast asleep and breathing loudly. it’s not raining any more, and the silence weighs more than anything. he stares dully up at the ceiling, listening to his own breathing. when the shrill sound of his phone rings out into the darkness — a ringtone he hasn’t figured out how to change yet — he tells himself he’s not going to answer it.

so he doesn’t.


End file.
